


These Scattered Shards of a Broken Mirror (Piece Me Back Together)

by morganoconner



Series: Mirror Images [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crossover, Fourth Wall, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had Richard known that playing on archangel on television would make him lose his mind, he may have thought twice about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Scattered Shards of a Broken Mirror (Piece Me Back Together)

Richard hasn’t been near Vancouver in ages, hasn’t actually thought much about _Supernatural_ since he remembered the season finale was airing a couple months ago. He catches up with Misha every once in a while, since they’ve become friends, either via e-mail or text or, occasionally, phone call. And there are those packages that come in the mail sometimes, usually featuring some hideously orange piece of fabric and a garish-looking postcard laid out on top. (He wonders if perhaps the joke has gone too far, when during their travels they keep an eye out for the most terrifying orange underwear they can send each other.) And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s got a convention scheduled for sometime soon.

But still, all things considered, he has no reason to be thinking about the show now. He _definitely_ has no reason to be dreaming about it. He’s never been the type of actor to take his work home with him. He learns his lines, he does his thing, and he leaves it on the set. He can’t remember _ever_ dreaming about something he’s acted in, and this…this would take the cake even if it _were_ a normal occurrence.

He’s dreaming about conversing with his own character. _Has_ been dreaming about talking with Gabriel for several weeks now, and it’s enough to have him both annoyed and a little alarmed, mostly because it makes no sense. And because these feel different than his normal dreams. For one, they’re _clearer_. They don’t feel like _dreams_ upon waking, and they never fade. He can remember each of them still with almost perfect clarity.

And what he remembers doesn’t make any sense either.

Since learning about Gabriel’s alternate identity as an archangel, Richard knows he’s been anything but a straightforward character. There are complexities, hurts and betrayals, that he knows would run deep, even if the Trickster mask is what gets portrayed more often than not. But he’s never – _never_ – envisioned the sadness he can see lurking in those too-familiar eyes when he talks to Gabriel every night. He’s never pictured the archangel as a shade, as something desperate and fading and broken. But Gabriel is _his_ damn it, _he_ created the way the character is, so why – _why_ – would the archangel be so unfamiliar to him now, dream or no dream?

Tonight, he stares at himself in the mirror for a long time before going to bed. Takes note of the circles that keep deepening under his eyes, the way he looks like he hasn’t smiled in weeks. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that he’s feeling so off-balance. But he doesn’t know how to get Gabriel out of his head, or even why he’s there to begin with.

He wonders, briefly, if he should talk to Misha about it, find out whether Castiel ever gets under his skin this way.

When he finally falls asleep that night, it’s with the air of one resigned to what he knows is coming, and he’s not wrong.

~

It’s a forest, this time. It’s always someplace different. Some are places from his memory, some that he must have pulled from the recesses of his subconscious, and some that just make no sense at all. But this time, it’s a forest.

Gabriel is sitting on a large tree stump, the kind that makes you think of giant oak trees thousands of years old. He’s leaning back on his hands, staring up at the sky like it will somehow provide all the answers to the universe. He looks so much like Richard it’s eerie, but there are differences. Gabriel’s eyes are lighter, for one. And his skin glows sometimes, like there’s something beneath the surface that flesh can’t contain.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel says, and it’s enough to stop Richard in his tracks, because Gabriel’s voice is whisper-quiet and carries the weight of defeat.

Gabriel’s ready to give up, and dream or no dream, Richard doesn’t want him to. He drops down next to the archangel, leaving enough space that they’re not touching, but close enough that he can reach out if he wants to. “What are you sorry for?”

“Being here. Using you.” Gabriel gives a small shrug. “I’m connected to you for some reason. We’re from totally different worlds, but there’s something that links us together. It’s keeping me…tethered. Keeping me from breaking apart. But I know you don’t want me here, and if I was half the angel my Father wanted me to be, I’d let go. You have a life, and I…well.” He quirks a bitter smile. “I don’t.”

He and Gabriel have talked about a lot of things the past several weeks that Richard’s been dreaming, but it’s never been like this. He’s never been given much reason to believe they were anything more than dreams.

Now he wonders if he’s just plan going crazy.

But it doesn’t stop his hand from moving to Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezing, doesn’t stop his mouth from saying, “Don’t. Don’t let go. You can stay as long as you need to.”

He wakes up with Gabriel’s surprise – and the archangel’s gratitude – still etched across his memory.

~

He knows he should seek help when he starts hearing Gabriel when he’s awake. He knows none of this – _none of it_ – can be real, and if he had any kind of intelligence, he would have gone to see someone about it ages ago, when it was still just dreams.

But he’s been talking with Gabriel on a nightly basis for four months now, and the archangel in his head knows things about him that he’s never told anyone in his life, and there’s a part of him – a part that scares him a little – that wants Gabriel to be real too badly to try and get rid of him now.

So when the auditory hallucinations start (because really, what else could it be, having a dead, fictional archangel talking at you in your mind?), he knows he should get help, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ignore Gabriel either, though he tries to when he’s around other people.

But most of the time, when he’s at home watching TV or in his gym doing cardio, he just talks to Gabriel, the same way they always talk when he’s asleep. Gabriel has a running commentary going on the current seasons of three different shows Richard watches, and too often, Richard finds himself laughing uproariously at something Gabriel says.

Gabriel talks to him when he’s working, too. When he’s auditioning for a guest spot on _House_ , the archangel is in his ear, telling him how he should stand, different ways he should try the lines. He has to smother his laughter as Gabriel enacts how a scene would go between House and the Trickster.

By the end of the day, he’s got the job, and he’s pretty sure he owes it to Gabriel.

He can _feel_ a little more of his sanity tear away, and when he dreams that night, he doesn’t miss the way Gabriel watches him, like he’s waiting for Richard to break and can’t do anything to stop it.

~

Richard still goes out, he still has friends and hits parties and works his butt off when he can. But he loses track of how long it’s been since the last time he went on a date, and he finds himself far more content staying in and hanging out with Gabriel (in all the ways you can ‘hang out’ with a voice in your head) than going to a bar or catching a game with the guys.

He doesn’t realize quite how bad it’s gotten, though, until Misha shows up on his doorstep wearing a scowl and shoving his way inside, and the first thing Richard feels is resentment that they got interrupted watching _Psych_.

He hasn’t seen Misha in longer than he cares to think about, and before all this, they were well on their way to being good friends.

 _Shit_.

‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ Gabriel says, and Richard wants to reply that there’s nothing to apologize for, but he holds his tongue when Misha’s sharp-eyed gaze lands on him.

“Hey, Misha,” Richard said, trying for a genuine smile. “Been a while.”

One eyebrow goes up. “Mm, I’ve noticed. Of course, you know what generally helps in getting together? Returning text messages. Picking up the phone on occasion. Possibly, if we’re in the middle of some sort of electronic apocalypse, writing an actual _letter_.”

Richard winces. “I’ve been busy, you know how it is…”

“This is busy for you?” Misha asked, indicating Richard’s bare feet, flannel pajama pants, and loose white t-shirt. “Huh.” He doesn’t sound too impressed. “I texted you three times this week to let you know I was in the area. I was starting to think you died and didn’t have the courtesy of letting me know.”

“No, there’s just…” Richard scrubs a hand down his face tiredly. “There’s a lot going on.” He leads Misha into the living room, plops himself down on the couch while Misha seats himself on the La-Z-Boy across from him.

“Richard. What’s going on?”

Richard closes his eyes because he doesn’t think he wants to see Misha’s look right now. “You ever… You ever have a character get so deep under your skin that you can’t get rid of them? That you…maybe start talking to them?”

There’s perfect silence for a long time before Misha releases a slow breath. “Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Richard does.

~

It’s always been fairly obvious that Misha has a different outlook on things than the rest of the world does. But Richard still finds himself surprised, even a week later, that the other man hadn’t instantly demanded he seek psychological help. Instead, Misha had listened patiently to every detail, picking things apart and making sense of them in a way Richard would never have been able to.

He still thinks he’s probably crazy. But now he also thinks maybe there’s a tiny chance he’s not. And while Misha never let on one way or another what _he_ thinks about all of it, he did extract Richard’s promise to keep him up-to-date, and reassured him that if Richard needed to talk, he was there, anytime, day or night.

Richard had almost forgotten how good a friend Misha Collins could be.

He’s impossibly grateful for it, and for that matter, so is Gabriel.

~

Other things start to happen eventually.

He trips one day on set, but his hand flies out faster than a blink and he catches himself before he can do serious damage.

He’s distracted one day by a phone call and doesn’t even see the director wave to him, but somehow he’s already lifted a hand in greeting before it has time to process.

He forgets a line one day, but before there’s so much as a mutter from the crew, he finds himself delivering it flawlessly, a smirk he doesn’t put there twisting his features.

It’s always small things, stuff no one else would notice. He trusts Gabriel, likes the archangel more than he should considering he probably only exists in Richard’s head, but he finds himself wondering how long that will last. Richard feels like he’s losing himself, if he hasn’t already done so, and all Gabriel can do is apologize for it every time. Richard truly believes he doesn’t mean to do it, and he always tells Gabriel that it’s all right, but he doesn’t really know if it is anymore.

Even Misha doesn’t have any answers.

~

They’re arguing the day it happens.

Later, Richard will never remember what it was they were arguing _about_. He’ll remember the anger he could feel pumping through him, the out-of-control feelings he always got whenever Gabriel got to him somehow. He’ll remember the harsh voice of the archangel in his head, but not the words either of them were speaking.

He’ll remember the horn blaring, the headlights blinding him.

One second, there’s the calm road ahead, a snappish archangel within, a schedule he’s trying to keep. And the next, there’s an out-of-control tractor-trailer, a burning sensation throughout his entire body, Gabriel’s voice crying his name, and darkness.

~

When he comes to, the first thing he’s aware of is the echoing silence in his skull. It’s been so long since the last time he was alone with his thoughts that for a moment, he panics. “Gabriel…” he moans, struggling to sit up, though he currently lacks the strength to even open his eyes.

A warm hand on his chest stops him. “Shh. Take it easy for a second, would ya?”

The archangel’s voice calms him, and he manages to blink his eyes open, though everything appears fuzzy and unfocused. Still, there’s no mistaking those amber eyes, that tilted smirk. “’m I dreamin’?” he asks, and sees the hesitation before Gabriel’s eyes slide away.

“No.” He sighs out softly, looks back at Richard. His hand is still pressed directly over Richard’s heart. “You should rest, wait for Misha to get here. That was a lot of power I just had to channel through you.”

Things are slowly shifting into focus, and Richard notes for the first time that they’re on a grassy overlook just off the highway. He can see flashing lights in the distance, hear the faint call of sirens. “The car –”

“Lost cause,” Gabriel says. “I was lucky to get you out in time. The other driver is okay. I’ll handle the details, make sure you’re not linked to it, when I’m a little more up to it.”

It’s then that Richard gets a good look at the archangel. The clean-shaven face where Richard’s own is getting scruffy, the clothes he can remember wardrobe outfitting him with a million years ago for _Supernatural_. The way his body is hunched in on itself, his face pale and his hands trembling, the pain and exhaustion in his eyes.

The way he’s _here_ , sitting in front of Richard. Not a dream, not a voice in his head.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” the actor breathes. “What did you do?”

Gabriel eases back, looking away again, and Richard forces himself up so that he’s sitting cross-legged, facing the archangel and ignoring the way the world tilts and spins for a moment.

“I…” Gabriel’s lips twist. “My grace has been…recharging, ever since that first night. It’s why I was more…” He waves a hand, searching for words. “… _there_ as time went on. It…took a while. It should have taken longer.”

Richard’s not slow on the uptake. “You weren’t ready for…”

Gabriel’s eyes find his again. “It took a lot of power to get you out of there, and once I used that much power, I had to get out. Your body isn’t made to be a vessel, I don’t… I don’t know what it would’ve done to you.”

“You made your own?”

“Did it once before,” Gabriel shrugs, looking self-conscious. “Like riding a bike.” He looks down. “Hope you don’t mind the form…old habits and all that.”

Richard reaches for him then, brings Gabriel close and presses his forehead to the archangel’s, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of ozone and peppermint. “You’re real,” he murmurs, and feels the breath of laughter Gabriel huffs.

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be.” There’s something – so many things – Richard wants to say. But they can wait. This isn’t a dream, it’s not his imagination, and Gabriel will still be with him tomorrow.

They can talk then.


End file.
